The Darkbringers: Thae
by Wyndswept
Summary: The Darkbringers, which is mainly an idea I plucked ripely from my head, is loosely based on the idea of Fae-kind, with an obvious few differences and twists to it. This is made completely from my imagination, so please don't get upset that it doesn't align, per say, with any other story out there. If it does, great.


In a time long past, there were three things. First, a world in which to live, and all that lived here were accompanied by their own unique set of abilities—abilities that even in the sense of many of them were great. This sphere, of knowledge and power, is named Thae'ul—and the people on it—are called the Thae.

The great hostess of Thae'ul, who is both the sun and moon, is Eatri: the mother of all things, and the dusk and dawn of time. In her womb we lived for many millennia, away from her own origins, and destined for greatness. Upon her head was a crown of ice and fire; this was the second thing. The crown symbolizes hate and love, omnipotence and omniscience. It is the full cycle of the moon, the melting of springs and setting of winters.

And lastly, within the hearts of the living, laid a spirit unlike any other combined. When brought to a full, both the opportunity to destroy and rebirth the world which stood brazenly against any determination of blackness, was unlike any of the other three things. Even Eatri herself, who's only saving grace was that the whole race of Thae would never rise up together in the normality of life of Thae'ul.

But perhaps if something happened—maybe then the Thae could, _would_, rise up and join like an inseparable shield wall, titans in the ash of defeat, undefeatable. From these things, others were born; much like the Guard of Almseri, or the Eyes of Correlation. But of all these things, one of them sank its fangs the deepest in the flesh of Eatri's world of wonders.

They were the Darkbringers.

These men and woman, not completely Thae, but not completely otherwise so, were horribly powerful and horribly foul. As the stories of the age would tell, these ones were the ones that would lather up the battle-paint and stick themselves against the prevailing goodness that never fails to rise. They came at an angle in Eatri's mind that was made for her protection, but instead of protection, her would-be guardians ate her feasts and left her to starve.

In some small way, these young people were quite willing to fight and never give up. Their complexions ranged in personal variation, and their eyes were all a flaming gold. They held swords and axes, but above all, their minds were what put them above all the others who strove to become great beings. Their minds were the weapons of choice, and although many call them warriors, that was not what they were.

Warriors fight. The Darkbringers paint, and sing, and dance.

For all good things, intentional or not, there will always be something seething and destructive to rise from the depths of prophecy and attempt an already failing conquest. Even though horrors, in those days, were truly horrible, that didn't change the fact that they would always fail.

The first of the Darkbringers, Katra, who used his blade like a paintbrush, the Thae—moreover both worlds—his canvas, brought to life children from the elements that were. First, his son, Veth. The one with the power over thought and fire, his flame burning like a cinder among cold ashes. Both him and the others who came after him, his sisters and brothers, were always shrouded in doubt. Like an intrigued generation of skilled poets, musicians, and painters, they bled their art and kept on with it, however painful or dangerously sequestered it was at times. But perhaps like the things that came much before them, they were born a piece of a piece. Not completely here, or entirely there. They were born of both worlds, like outcasts, yet as that they became much more than let on in the first place. A dead seed of a ratchet confidence in poisoned wine. They were the human world's _one in a million_.

Unlike their father, these children were not powerful. They were _dangerous_, as if by some chemical accident that can be honed like water from a tap, accidents do happen. It was much too complex for the human parts of them, and the only way for them to strive with their seemed curses alike, they would need to part with that which they thought they knew, as the fire burns the foundation, the water washes away, the earth shakes those at bay, and the wind utters words past even the casters comprehension. They were messes, accidents. They were not meant to be, yet necessary.

In time, which was a beginning to something that started much before any calculator or scientist could perceive, they would learn to shatter those that opposed them, like quicksilver glass on the driest surface; but only at greatest prices to themselves.

To set a future, and unset a curse.


End file.
